


sleep

by bombcollar



Category: Dark Souls III
Genre: Alternate Ending, Gen, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-09 00:16:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13469652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bombcollar/pseuds/bombcollar
Summary: When the age of darkness finally falls, what else is there to do? What happens when you wake up?





	sleep

Long had the bridge between their throne room and the archives stood empty before it crumbled into the abyss below. The unkindled no longer came to challenge them, the halls filled with dust and bones, light sinking lower and lower as the sun bled out into the sea.

And yet it all feels as if it was only yesterday.

It seemed time did not pass for them, their memories of the failed ceremony raw as the protruding bone of a broken arm. The look of fury on their father’s face, his bloodshot eyes, the skin peeling from his cheeks, the smell of wine and burnt flesh, the screams ringing through the halls.

There’s little left to do but sleep. Hardly any need to talk anymore. Only darkness outside their door now, and tiny pinpoints of light where fires still burn. Slowly, piece by piece, Lorian discards his armor, letting it drop into the drifts of feathers, until he’s left in his linens, stained in the places he’d been rubbed raw. Lothric had healed him, time and time again, his knees, back and shoulders starry with sores.

Was it worth it? Was it what they had wanted? There was no point in asking. The darkness had come, the last light faded from the sky, silence on all sides and nothing but the smolder of Lorian’s sword to show that anything existed beyond the two of them. He runs his rough fingers along its blackened blade, as if to mourn alongside the stirring consciousness within. They were all the last of their kind, now.

A peaceful death was all they’d wished for, to sleep and not wake up again, to not go mad in the lightless isolation. The end was coming for both of them, they could feel it. Lorian picks Lothric up carefully, cradling him like he had when his brother was a child, a frail infant so cold and withered and burdened with so much hope he’d had no say in carrying. So much placed upon shoulders so thin every weary bone could be felt beneath the coarse fabric of his robe.

Lorian lies on his side, the two of them on the threadbare and bloodstained sheets, the mattress collapsed and extruding its feathery insides. If the end was coming, at least he could try and keep his brother warm, one last time. Let him pass in comfort.

Though there is nothing to see, he shuts his eyes.

He does not dream, just imagines himself sinking into the soft, yielding dark, lightless, scentless, soundless, weightless.

 

Lorian wakes to the sound of birds and the soft patter of rain, early morning sun peeking through the dusty windows. Through their open door he can see clouds, gold and indigo against a pale blue sky, the tail of the storm lingering. He breathes in, tasting fresh air, cool and damp as it fills his chest, dew on leaves, soil and old wet ashes being washed away. An age had passed as they'd slept.

Lothric is still asleep, resting peacefully, hands tucked up to his cheek. Lorian would let him be a while longer. He would be so excited when he finally woke.


End file.
